


House And Holmes

by Gem_Gem



Category: House M.D., Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Attempt at humour, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Gen, House Being House, House Plays the Piano, Music, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Plays the Violin, Sherlock is a Brat, Sherlock with Withdrawal, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-04-02 14:44:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4063861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is left at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital to detox from cocaine where he meets Dr Gregory House and chaos ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited: 14/10/15

House barged into Cuddy’s office with a witty remark and a line of inane and utterly unneeded and ridiculous questions on the tip of his tongue, but the occupied chairs before her desk stilled him. Two men were sitting with their backs to him, neither one turning at his sudden entrance, and Cuddy sighed in exasperation as she lifted her gaze to shoot House a strained glare that tightened the once polite smile upon her face.

The man sitting in the chair to the left was the older of the two, with an umbrella at his side; handle cradled in a well-manicured hand and fingers tapping in what looked like an impatient manner, but was really a ploy to hide the abrupt interest he had at House’s arrival. The suit the man wore was crisp, his shoes polished and unmarred, and House narrowed his gaze on the pointed end of the umbrella to try and ascertain where the man had come from, because it was certainly not from New Jersey. It was very slightly marked from dried splashes of rainwater, and House glanced briefly out the window of the office at the dry day before he turned his attention to the younger man in the chair at the right who was almost the complete opposite in appearance, with a head full of unruly curls, bitten fingernails, and mussed and worn clothes finished with scuffed shoes that were slightly damp and smeared with dirt.

House shuffled further into the office, leaning heavily on his cane, and the younger man on the right turned his head slightly, shooting him an intense look with eyes a pale grey/blue/green—what color even were they anyway? The man was pale and sweaty and trembling, clearly in withdrawal. House locked eyes with him and the man’s eyes flitted over him and away.

“House, can’t this wait?” Cuddy asked which might not have been for the first time.

House turned his attention to the well-dressed man on the left, “Don’t you have a rehab clinic where you come from?”

“House,” Cuddy reprimanded with a stern expression and a narrowed gaze, still trying awfully hard to keep her polite smile in check. 

“What? Bit weird to come this far just to dump his little brother into a rehab clinic in one specific hospital. What was it that won you over? Hear about Cuddy’s low inhabitations?”

“House.”

House turned to the man on the right, “Heroin?”

“Cocaine,” the curly haired man answered and picked at the armrest, his voice a deep baritone that trembled with the jostling of his leg, his English accent clipped and arrogant. “Vicodin?”

House frowned and glanced at Cuddy, finding her eyebrow lifted as she returned his look. He continued to pick at the armrest until the older man adjusted his umbrella, and House glanced between them with a cock of his head, reading more into their situation than he had before, a small interested smile quirking at his lips. 

“House, whatever you want can wait,” Cuddy told him dismissively after clearing her throat and smiling even more civilly to them both, before addressing the older man. “And Mr Holmes, your brother will be shown to the McDaniel Drug Rehabilitation Wing to start detox right away. How long do you plan on remaining in New Jersey?”

“How did you know I take Vicodin?” House asked the younger Holmes brother, ignoring the roll of Cuddy’s eyes. “I could be on any number of pain medication.”

“House--”

“How do you think I know?” The younger Holmes brother retorted, turning to look at House properly, his eyes focused and sharp, gnawed and chapped full lips unfurling in a lazy grin.

House pursed his own lips and adjusted his jaw with a twitch of his eyebrow, “I don’t know…” he said at length and the younger man slowly grinned wider at him, a gleam in his gaze.


	2. Chapter 2

As Chase, Cameron and Foreman walked in House pointed his cane at them from his position at the table with a crooked and mischievous smirk, “Do them.”

The younger Holmes that sat in the chair beside House looked over with a bored, aloof expression despite the sheen of sweat on his brow and the waxy look to his pale skin. He took a moment to gaze over all three; eyes rimmed red and purple, before he took a deep breath and slumped his head back with an exaggerated look of frustration. House rolled his eyes and dropped the end of his cane back to the floor, leaning his chin on the handle and comically pouting over at the man with wide eyes.

“You’re no fun,” he groused and then looked over at the three with sudden impishness, watching them sink into their seats and motioning to them with his forehead. “Daddy issues, empathy issues, and stereotypical racial issues – See how easy that was? Come on, your turn; it’ll be fun, like a little game, you like games don’t you? Would you rather write it down? Here, I’ll get you a pen--”

“House,” Foreman said sternly with a glower as Cameron and Chase both frowned deeply at House’s words, squinting suspiciously at Holmes. “Who’s he?”

“Start with Cameron, any dirty little secrets lurking about?” House asked the younger man who was very faintly quivering and looking strained. “Got to be, right? I mean, marrying a dying man, willingly, that’s morbid. Is there some kind of fetish for that type of thing?--”

“House!”

House looked at Foreman with a tilt of his head, “Would you believe that he’s my long lost son?”

Foreman scoffed, “No.”

“He’s your son?” Chase and Cameron exclaimed in unison.

House smirked in response and then quickly slid over a wastebasket with the end of his cane as Holmes unexpectedly lurched forward and retched, slipping to his knees to heave and shudder violently into it, the veins in his neck bulging. Chase and Cameron leaped up from their seats in sudden concerned confusion as Foreman’s eyes widened and then narrowed in annoyance, before flicking to the glass door as Cuddy burst in; followed by a burly looking man who strode quickly to Holmes’ heaving side. House cut him off with his cane and smiled charmingly at Cuddy, knocking the man back.

Cuddy glowered and folded her arms, “House! What are you doing? Mr. Holmes is meant to be in therapy; he is in the middle of detox!”

“No? Really?” House blinked sarcastically, pushing harder on the burly man who fought against his cane as House reached down to pat Holmes on the curve of his back when he retched again. “You know, I did wonder why he looked so ghastly. And it does go a long way to explain why he’s currently puking his guts up…”

The burly man wretched House’s cane from his hand strongly and threw it away, bending to take Holmes gently by his sides; Holmes growled and lashed out in reaction, lifting his face with a murderous look as he sat back against House’s chair, his face slicked with sweat and tears, and hands trembling where they flexed rhythmically around the edge of the soiled wastebasket. Cuddy frowned and shot House an apprehensive and accusing look, stepping forward to address Holmes. 

“Mr. Holmes—” She started.

“I am not returning to that idiot,” Holmes seethed, throat working as he fought back another bout of retching, his red-rimmed eyes jerking to Cuddy as her gaze wandered back to House. “And will you stop looking at him—I walked away myself. You think I need assistance from escaping that wretched place? I left that abhorrent therapy session on my own accord. I shall not sit there surrounded by the pitifully dim-witted and listen to a lot of asinine mantras and platitudes!”

“…Okay, so maybe I do believe it,” Foreman muttered as he shared a look with Chase and Cameron.

“Mr. Holmes,” Cuddy said patiently as she ignored House’s grin. “Your brother placed you here because—”

“I know why he put me here,” Holmes growled and pulled his knees up. “I’m not saying I won’t go through with the detox. I’m still here, aren’t I? I could have left, in fact, I almost did.”

Cuddy narrowed her eyes, “You need to go back to the rehab wing, Mr. Holmes. The treatment works, just give it a chance, give us a chance.”

Holmes scoffed, “I shall take whatever stupid little pills you give me, and I’ll even play the well behaved patient when it comes to bed time, but I will not spend another moment in one of those useless therapy sessions—do you honestly think that playing with clay and sitting in a circle to be confronted with boring people talking about their boring lives – lives I couldn’t care less about – truly helps me? How? It does nothing but make me want to use more. My mind rebels against stagnation, Dr. Cuddy, the more tedious situations you put me in, the more I want to stick that needle into my arm.”

“Mr. Holmes—”

“Allow me to spend my time with Dr. House,” Holmes suggested. “His work…distracts me. It gives me something else to focus on, and that’s what I need. That’s what I crave—He is the best Doctor at this abysmal hospital, and the only reason I’ve not walked out of that door. My brother is paying a hefty sum to keep me here, correct? To keep me and make sure I get “better.” Dr. House is the key.”

“You hear that?” House said to the room, looking delightfully smug. “I’m the key.”

Cuddy sighed and straightened, her hands on her hips, “I can’t just let you wander the corridors in this state, Mr. Holmes. You need to be supervised. You need to be in the rehab wing.”

“You either let me spend most, if not all, of my time in the company of Dr. House, or I leave,” Holmes threatened. “And I take my brother’s money with me. Something like this may tarnish your hospitals impeccable reputation, will it not?”

“Well, that settles it! We can’t have that,” House said in the silence that followed, cocking his head aside when Cuddy glowered. “Let him stay. I could do with at least one less incompetent person in my vicinity for once.” House shot Chase, Cameron and Foreman a condescending grin, which was countered immediately with a glare from each of them.

“He’s your responsibility,” Cuddy told him, pointing a stern finger as she gestured for the burly man to leave ahead of her. “Anything happens, and you’ll be paying for it, House, with clinic duty. A lot of it.” She eyed Holmes for a moment, taking in his slumped shoulders and shaking arms, and sighed, throwing her hands up briefly and leaving.

“House,” Foreman sighed in disapproval when the door closed with a click after Cuddy’s retreat. 

“Help a cripple out?” House said as he motioned to his cane lying a few feet away from him. He grinned faintly when Chase and Cameron both bolted for it, grappling to reach it first. “And some water wouldn’t go amiss, the guy’s detoxing for crying out loud.”

“And shouldn’t be here,” Foreman said seriously, obviously aggravated when Chase won the battle for the cane, so Cameron rushed to get Holmes a cup of water. “House, he’s a patient!”

Holmes looked up with a sharp expression just as House leaned against his cane toward him, “Oh, he’s just begging for it now, don’t you think? Come on, give it a try, it’ll make you feel better.”

“House!”

“Maybe mention something about his criminal background,” House murmured obnoxiously to which Holmes quirked his mouth.

“This is going to be a nightmare,” Chase muttered under his breath as he watched both House and Holmes exchange a look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holmes and House like each other...for now


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I love you all. I hope you enjoy!  
> I adore this story but please be aware that it deserves a lot of thinking through because of the medical element to it...which should be in it somewhere haha

Wilson looked up in surprise when House joined him at his table in the cafeteria with Holmes at his side, and watched with a familiar longsuffering annoyance as House reached to steal food from his place before House had even dragged a nearby chair over and sat down, “House,” Wilson started, unsure on what to say as Holmes slumped down in place opposite and stared at Wilson with dark rings around his sharp, indifferent eyes, “Uh. Hello Mr. Holmes, I’m Dr. Wilson, I’m—”

“Head of Oncology,” Sherlock interrupted and tilted his head, narrowing his eyes with a slow but wavering inhale, “And before you start; yes, I know I’m meant to be in the rehabilitation clinic. No, I shan’t go to my meeting this afternoon. Yes, I know what I’m doing. Yes, I know I look like death warmed up, thank you. And no, the female patient you were seeing before was not flirting with you, that’s just wishful thinking on your part.”

“…Hell,” Wilson mumbled, squinting between Holmes and House with raised eyebrows, “Cuddy wasn’t kidding!—How do you know my last patient was a woman?”

“He’s psychic,” House replied mockingly around his mouthful, lounging back and then eyeing the way Holmes trembled subtly in pain beside him, looking almost completely emaciated and drowsy. House tugged Wilson’s plate toward Holmes pointedly. “Have some of this. Wilson doesn’t mind. And it’s full of greasy goodness.”

“Um, actually, Wilson does mind,” Wilson retorted, though he left the plate where it was as he frowned at House, leaning over the table accusingly, pointing a fork at him, “You’ve been stalking me again. That’s how he knows about the female patient. – Which means, you’re bored. Very bored. Bored enough to linger around the oncology department. No new cases then?”

“No,” House and Holmes said in unison, glancing at one another.

“…Now that’s just spooky,” Wilson muttered, looking between them again, before he sighed and laced his fingers together, trying to look serious at the both of them, “Right, House, stop following me around and find something else to do, anything at all. You’ve got clinic duties as well don’t forget.” 

“Sorry. No can do. Swapped the clinic for babysitting obligations. Didn’t Cuddy mention that during your House report of the day?”

Wilson turned to Holmes, “And Mr. Holmes—Please don’t interrupt. I don’t care how many times you’ve heard this, nor how many times you’ve brushed the words aside, I’m going to say it all anyway – You need to go to your sessions. You need to be in the right environment to get better. Being with Dr. House is not the right place to be. Seriously. He’ll do you more harm than good. As a doctor, a more reliable doctor, I’m advising you to rethink your actions and go to the people who can help you.”

House shot Wilson an exaggeratedly hurt expression, “Does our love mean nothing to you?”

“I’m extremely touched by your misguided concern.” Holmes blinked slowly, detached and dazed, “But what I need, doctor, is work. Not to sit around surrounded by imbeciles and deranged addicts. It’s a foul and frankly depressing mess, overlooked by people too ignorant to acknowledge their own addictions. Did you know that one of your so-called therapists has an addiction to cough medicine?”

“What?” Wilson repeated glaring when he tried to get his plate back and House snatched it from his hands. “How do you know that?”

“He thinks himself a detective,” House explained and smiled at Wilson smugly, “and he’s right by the way. Guy’s addicted to Mucinex.” He took another few mouthfuls of Wilson’s food before he was suddenly pointing meaningfully at the nearby restroom with his cane. Wilson frowned but Holmes scrambled to his feet and rushed away without a sound, covering his mouth just before he disappeared inside. “I’ve settled to calling him Detective Hurl. Can’t keep anything down, that kid.”

Wilson sighed and folded his arms, “Well, he is in the middle of detox. Suffering from withdrawal tends to make you hurl your guts up quite regularly from what I hear – Not that you would know, of course, seeing as you’re still taking your daily dose, more than daily, I might add. And a higher dose than you’re recommended need.”

“Yeah, I definitely don’t need the pills for anything as silly as pain,” House mumbled sarcastically around the food in his mouth, “My leg? Yeah, just fine. No dead muscle or nerve damage. I just wanted to rock the cane. Apparently it’s all the rage with the ladies these days.”

“House, you know I’m right. You’ve been taking more and more of those damn pills – Maybe the reason you’ve taken a liking to this kid is because you see a lot of yourself in him. Heck, I think everyone sees that,” Wilson said, and glanced around at the restroom in concern, “Speaking of, shouldn’t you go check up on him?”

House arched one eyebrow, “I’m positive he needs no help spewing up chunks of porridge. I think he’s got it covered. Or he is covered. Either or. Detective Hurl likes to keep people guessing.”

Wilson pursed his mouth in thought and leaned on one elbow to address House casually, “Why have you taken a liking to him? You don’t normally, you know…”

“What?” House asked as he stole a sip of Wilson’s drink. “Adopt drug addicts? Didn’t I tell you? It’s a big weakness of mine, actually. I have a whole shelf full of them at home.” 

“You don’t normally make friends,” Wilson finished with a slight smile, “not easily, anyway – Has he been following you around all morning? Since you two were introduced? That’s…well, that’s…interesting.”

House frowned, “How is it? I always have folks following me around. What’s one more?”

“Yes, but you hate it. You do everything in your power to stop them from following you around. Or you complain. – Sometimes, sure, you love making people trail after you, but you don’t want them to trail too far with you,” Wilson told him, finally getting his plate back to tuck into his food again. “He impressed you. You want to help him. You like him.”

“What can I say? I’ve got a bleeding heart. Seeing how much the kid’s suffering really gets to me,” House replied, pretending to wipe tears from his eyes and then looking away when Wilson lifted his brow, unimpressed and unconvinced. “He’s different.”

“Different? Different than any of the other drug addicts?” Wilson huffed and shook his head, glancing briefly to the restroom. “He’s really not.”

House twirled the handle of his cane against his palm, “He really is.”

“Why? Because he’s a detective?”

“Because he did it on purpose,” House said, shooting a tight smile at Wilson’s confused face. “He’s not an addict. He’s a user—”

Wilson sighed loudly and sat back in his chair, dropping his fork, “Bull. He’s an addict, House. You’ve only got to look at him to see that. You should try it sometime. All you have to do is look in the mirror.”

“Apparently, I am,” House countered and leaned forward slowly. “He’s smart. Very smart.”

“Smart people are still people. People do stupid things,” Wilson said with a long breath through his nose. “Anyone can get addicted, House. It doesn’t matter what it is or who they are. Addiction isn’t picky.”

House rolled his eyes and gestured with one hand, “Don’t you find it odd that he was sent all the way from chipper ol’ England to here for a simple detox?”

“Not exactly simple but…” Wilson frowned and then laughed shortly. “So you do have a case. He’s your case. Sort of—House, you’re paranoid. People come to this hospital from all over!”

“Not from the merry land of free healthcare for a detox,” House argued, twisting the end of his cane into the floor. “And you didn’t see his brother. Man looked like the male version of Mary Poppins.”

Wilson rubbed his temples, “Listen, this doesn’t mean anything. There could be any number of reasons why they chose to come here – Maybe they wanted to do it privately, away from England, so they can’t be easily recognized? There doesn’t have to be an alternative motive, House.” 

House shrugged with a grunt and flicked his eyes around, lifting his chin, when Holmes emerged and strolled back over with his head down, the skin of his forehead shimmering with sweat and the curls of his overly mussed fringe sticking to his temples. Before he could sit back down House lifted his cane and jabbed him in the hip to stop him, he waited for Holmes to look at him in question and then pushed up onto his feet, gesturing with a slight tilt of his head. Holmes blinked and then turned aside, walking off with House at his side without another word, leaving behind a fascinated and confused looking Wilson.

“How much medical knowledge do you have?” House asked Holmes offhandedly as they walked through the cafeteria doors together, grinning over at Holmes when the younger man lifted an eyebrow in intrigue. 

*

Holmes shone the small flashlight into the woman’s open mouth with a sigh, his lips compressed into an annoyed line as he checked the back of her throat, glancing at the clock on the wall for a moment, “Strep throat,” Holmes rumbled even before he then pressed gently at the woman’s neck, checking her temperature with the back of his right hand at the same time. The woman frowned and looked up at Holmes, and he flitted his eyes over her quickly. “You caught it whilst sharing the very small tent with a very big number of people. People whom you shared drinks and eating utensils with no doubt. Possibly a toothbrush as well. – I assume you are not the only one of your “friends” to suffer the same ailments?”

“Yeah,” she answered, looking between Holmes and House quickly. House was sat off to the side playing a handheld game and paying them little attention, and Holmes was impassively staring at her, his brow peppered with sweat and his cheeks overly gaunt. “How did you know—?”

Holmes reached for her wrist, tugging on the collection of colorful bands there, singling one of them out with a pointed tap of his index finger, “This coupled with the state of your shoes and the ends of your jeans tells me you’ve recently been to a music festival. Very recently judging from the accumulation of the mud – And going from the love bites on your neck, I’d recommend that you get checked out for STDs while you’re here.” 

As the woman gaped at Holmes, House glanced up and over at him and smirked slowly with amusement. 

*

“He’s suffering an allergic reaction,” Holmes sighed rubbing his temples and pacing up and down before the young boy and his concerned parent, scratching at the elbow of his left arm, overly jittery and pale. 

“Allergic?” The mother repeated, glancing at her son and then frowning over at Holmes with a shake of her head, looking at House for an added opinion. “No. That’s not right. He’s not allergic to anything—”

“You’ve recently bought a cat, yes?—No. Two cats,” Holmes said, blinking rapidly as he looked them over, his temples sweaty. “One with long ginger hair and the other short and black.”

Awestruck but confused, the mother’s frown deepened, “Yes. So? He’s been around cats before and we’ve had no problems.”

Holmes turned on her with an irritated leer, his waxy appearance making her take a slight step back, “Cats differ in the amount of allergen they produce, you stupid woman,” he snapped and tilted his head, one of his eyes twitching, “Your son is allergic to the protein that is made in the cat’s saliva, sebaceous glands, and urinary tract. The protein is called “Fel d 1.” Cats produce this in different amounts depending on the individual cat. – Although I am 85.5% sure that it’s the shorthaired cat that is the problem. Your son is almost completely covered in the hair.” 

“I’d prefer to get a second opinion and maybe some tests done,” the mother replied with a glare. “Somehow I don’t believe you. – Are you even a qualified doctor?”

House pushed up out of his chair with his cane and moved to stand beside Holmes, “Hi. I’m your second opinion. He’s right, you’re wrong,” he said and then meandered around to open the clinic exam room door for Holmes, who turned and rushed out with a trembling hand through his hair. 

“Where are you going?” She demanded.

“Antihistamines.” House replied, following Holmes out. “Your son will need them unless you want him to continue having trouble breathing?”

*

“I’ve had this sort of scratchy throat and headache for about two days now,” a young woman explained, eyeing Holmes over with obvious interest as he reached to check along her neck with a bored expression, the dark circles under his eyes darker and bigger. “And I’m feeling so tired. I have a terrible cough too. It just won’t go away some nights. Keeps me up.”

Holmes nodded vaguely, looking indifferent, and stood back, “You have a cold.”

“Are you from England?” She asked, leaning slowly forward on the examining table, enough to show off her ample cleavage, taking House’s attention from the game he was playing for a moment. “I’ve always wanted to go there. Where about in England you from? What’s it like?”

“Drink lots of fluids. Water. Juice. Tea…” Holmes intoned and turned to House with a look of clear exasperation, taking the lollipop that House held out to him with a very faint smile, twirling it between his fingers and then lobbing it pointedly into the nearest trashcan.

The woman giggled flirtatiously, “I’m not much of a tea drinker—So, let me guess. London?”

“Born and bred,” House replied, putting on a British accent and standing up with the aid of his cane to wrap an arm around Holmes’ shoulders, squeezing him to his side with a wide grin. The young woman perked up, glancing between them both and then smiling prettily. “Is it that obvious?”

“I’m really good at placing accents,” she told them proudly, squashing her arms together to better push out her bosom. House looked down at it subtly with a stifled and sardonic smile. “Really good at wheedling out the fakers too. I can always tell when something’s fake, you know?”

“Definitely,” Holmes input with his own mocking grin, watching the woman’s face shutter and her eyes narrow when he motioned pointedly down to her bust without shame. “I know exactly what you mean. Unavoidable and blatant, and excessively unnatural.” Holmes wiped his grin off his face in an instant. “You have a cold. Go away.”

“Spoilsport,” House muttered with a sigh.

*

Standing side-by-side Holmes and House both tilted their heads with a grimace of morbid interest, as the man in front of them dropped his trousers. With a quick glance at each other they both leaned in to peer closer, squinting in disgust and tilting their heads the opposite way. Almost simultaneously, they both snapped on a latex glove on the corresponding hand and reached forward to examine the man, awe-struck with interest and rubbing shoulders in their haste to inspect.

“House!” Cuddy exclaimed sternly as she entered the exam room, stuttering at the sight before her with a look of appalled shock and then apology as the man scrambled to pull his trousers back up. “Sorry—You two, out. Now.”

“Can’t you see I’m working here?” House explained sarcastically, waving his gloved hand around. “This man needs urgent attention!”

The man swallowed thickly with fear, “I…I do?”

“I’ll say,” Holmes muttered with a frown and a twist of his mouth when House huffed in laughter.

Cuddy held the door wide and pointed, “Out. Both of you. Now. – Go to my office.”

“Wh-what’s going on?” The man asked, skittish and blushing with humiliation.

“Nothing, sir,” Cuddy said with a smile that expressed anything but, “I just want a word with Dr. House and…I just need a word with them both. I’ll send someone else in. Sorry again.”

House gestured to Holmes and limped out of the room with him, smiling at Cuddy as he went by before she turned to follow them, closing the door to her office closed sharply when they were both inside. She turned to regard them, folding her arms sternly, her eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched with anger, and House remained quiet until she walked around to lean against her desk on her hands, lifting her eyebrows and smiling tightly, obviously waiting for an explanation.

“I thought you’d be happy,” House said with a slight tilt of his head, attention focused on the way her mouth pursed briefly. “You’re always getting on at me to do clinic duty. I finally give in and you’re dragging me back out again. Make up your mind.”

“Yes, I wanted you to do clinic duty, House. You. Not Holmes! I can’t believe you, House,” Cuddy said, rubbing her forehead and then motioning glaringly over at Holmes, “Do you know how much trouble we would be in if anyone found out that you’ve been letting a detoxing patient treat others—!”

“I think he did rather well,” House interrupted. “Sure we had to stop for him to puke his guts up every few moments but, hey, we’ve all been there. Especially when I’ve been drinking the night before.”

Cuddy sighed loudly, “House—”

“He was right,” House told her, leaning on his cane and gesturing with his eyebrows when she looked at him with an unenthusiastic expression, “Every time. Nothing he said or did was incorrect.”

“He’s also, strangely, right here in the room and can speak for himself,” Holmes cut in and shrugged loosely at Cuddy’s next glaring look. “I was bored. Dr. House obliged me. Without any of his interesting cases this was it. This was all there was to keep my mind off my painful and quite annoying withdrawal. I had never actually deduced or examined anyone living before, not to that extent or for that reason. – I can honestly see why he takes so much Vicodin. The man should be given a barrel full for dealing with those impudent, idiotic—”

“Dr. House should not have obliged you,” Cuddy snapped and blinked slowly, turning her gaze back on House, “and I don’t even believe he did. In fact, I’m sure he did it just to get back at me. What was it for this time? Telling Wilson about your weird little pet project? Having Chase, Cameron and Foreman keep an eye on you?— You really have no cases? None at all? Have you even checked?”

“Apparently I’m his case,” Holmes said with a forced smile, turning to look at House complacently, his eyes sharp, focused and searching. “Isn’t that right, Dr. House?”

Cuddy frowned, “What?”

“Nothing,” House replied, retaining eye contact with Holmes for a long moment, and then turning to go. “Are we done here?”

“We certainly are not,” Cuddy snorted, straightening up to cross her arms again, her brow furrowed as she glanced between them both. “We will talk about this later, House. For now, you win. You’re banned. No more clinic duty, not when you’ve clearly already got your hands full with Mr. Holmes. – You are now Mr. Holmes’ personal physician. When I said he was your responsibility before, that was nothing compared to now.”

Holmes quirked his mouth and locked eyes with House seconds before House left Cuddy’s office and hobbled away with a tight and concentrating expression. Holmes trailed a few paces behind him and then turned away from House when they came to a corridor, strolling in the direction of rehab, and House paused, watching and turning to face him. 

“Am I right?” House asked him, lifting his chin when Holmes paused and glanced over his shoulder at him. “To be suspicious. Am I right?”

“Very much so,” Holmes replied and slowly turned on his heel, slipping his hands into his tattered jean pockets, “You have every right to be. It unquestionably looked a bit off – But there’s actually nothing going on. I picked this hospital, picked you, because you are the only doctor that I could put my trust in, that I knew I wouldn’t drive away, and whom I could fully and utterly respect—And also, as your friend Dr. Wilson must have surmised, my family are very ashamed of me. The further away from England I am the better,” Holmes smirked and when House smiled slightly he continued. “I was given an ultimatum by my brother. A very big and, admittedly, frightening ultimatum. So, I agreed to the detox, but only if I were allowed to choose where. So I did, and… I did – Of course; it would be fantastic if something were to happen whilst I was here. A rare and mysterious poisoning. An infectious and deadly disease that no one understands…”

“God yes,” House laughed and sighed quietly, fiddling with the handle of his cane with the heel of his hand as he stared at Holmes thoughtfully, looking over the younger man’s pallid face and the uncontrollable shaking of one of his arms. “So you really are a detective?”

Holmes pulled an indecisive face, “Consulting detective,” he disclosed, shifting his stance and taking a breath, “I invented the job, before you ask. When Scotland Yard are out of their depth, which is always, they come to me.”

“When you’re not high out of your eyeballs.”

“Even then,” Holmes smirked. “I tended to think that I worked better high. Something we have in common, I’m sure.”

House lifted his eyebrows at the statement and looked away, limping leisurely toward him, “Must have seen a lot of mysterious deaths then? Due to specific infections?” 

“Yes. A lot.”

“Want to see some more?” House asked with a quirking mouth and a rebellious gleam in his eyes.

Holmes’ own mouth curled slowly on one side, “Hell yeah,” he replied in his best American twang, cringing and ruffling the curls at the back of his head awkwardly. “I’ll work on the accent.”

“Please do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback fuels me!


End file.
